Starting Again
by LockedInFantasy
Summary: Sherlock is back and full of surprises. Sally definitely doesn't mind.


For once, Anderson had actually been right. As much as that fact relieved her in this case, Sally couldn't help being surprised. After all, Sherlock Holmes had jumped off of a building. That isn't the sort of thing people typically come back from. But knowing Sherlock, he had probably survived it through sheer stubborn willpower. Or perhaps he had annoyed Death so much that he wasn't wanted in the afterlife and had inadvertently found the secret to immortality. The thought of the Grim Reaper chucking Sherlock back made her smile as she walked, the click of her heels on the pavement adding a satisfying rhythm.

While she would never admit it aloud, she had missed having Sherlock around. He was annoying and self-centred and interfering and rude and about a thousand other things that made Sally's job even harder for her, but he did get the job done. Whatever his motives, he had probably saved a fair few people by speeding up the process of catching a killer. Even if she didn't like him much, she could admit that Sherlock was good at what he did. Even if she did wish that he would be good at it in a way that didn't leave her to clear up his messes.

As she approached the crime scene she started to think about how Sherlock would react to seeing her again. While she stood by what she had done, it wasn't as if they had been best friends before. She had a feeling that she would not be forgiven as easily as Lestrade had been. In her opinion, her boss was way too lenient with Sherlock. It had seemed like he could do whatever he liked whenever he wanted and they all just had to let him. Sally remembered being sat down by her mother at the tender age of eight, when boys at school were pulling her hair, pushing her around and sending her home in tears, and being told firmly that she was never to put up with people like that and to never let anyone walk all over her. Little Sally had taken those words to heart and the day after getting that advice, she had pulled a full chunk of hair out of one of those boys' heads when they grabbed her hair. Yes she had got into trouble for it, but they had never tried anything like that again.

Sally lifted the crime scene tape up and stepped underneath neatly, then shook her head to prevent her hair falling into her face. She lifted her head to see the body of a young man, face down on the pavement. His hair was matted slightly from the wound on his forehead, which had stained the pavement red. Nasty business. The poor boy couldn't have been more than seventeen, and now he was lying on the pavement with his head smashed in. She wondered if the kid's mother had been found yet. Whether she had or not, Sally knew from experience that there was nothing worse than being the officer who had to give the family the bad news. And more often than not, that job was left to Sally. That was another thing Sherlock got out of doing. He just swanned around and got out of all the shit parts of the job.

Once she had passed the officers at the perimeter of the scene, she saw Lestrade standing next to a familiar figure in a long coat in a discussion that was most likely pretty intense judging from the amount Sherlock was moving his hands around. Somehow Sherlock had seamlessly slipped back in with the rest of the team and was now projecting the impression that he belonged here. It was almost as if he hadn't been gone at all. With a deep, calming breath, she walked over to them both. Now was as good a time as any, seeing as she couldn't just avoid going near him forever.

"Afternoon," Sally said calmly as she approached the pair. The look on Lestrade's face made it seem as though he was expecting some kind of volcanic eruption in the near future. Admittedly they had gone over two years without insulting each other, for what Sally was fairly sure would be the first and only time. The casual insults were as much a part of her relationship with Sherlock as the general air of exasperation she gave off whenever he did something ridiculous or irritating.

"Ah, Sally," Sherlock greeted with a nod of recognition in her direction. "Always a pleasure."

Sally chose to ignore him in favour of examining the scene before them. "What are we looking at here?"

"We're not sure. It could be a murder, but-" Lestrade began.

"No, no, no!" Sherlock interrupted impatiently, waving his hand to dismiss the idea. "It's obviously a road accident. There is no way this was done on purpose. It's too random, just think about it. He clearly crashed and killed himself."

"Crashed?" Sally repeated, raising a carefully plucked eyebrow. That definitely couldn't be right. "How could he have crashed when he was walking?"

Sherlock stared at her. "He was what?"

"Walking," Sally repeated slowly. "Look. He's at the wrong angle to have fallen off a vehicle. And the impact wound isn't large enough to have been caused by flying off a vehicle on the road. He landed face down on the pavement as he was walking that way." She pointed in the direction that he must have been walking.

Sherlock frowned and immediately got down onto his knees to inspect the body more closely, as if trying to find something he could use to contradict her. He inspected the body meticulously, using his magnifying glass to scan every inch of him. After several minutes, Sherlock stood up. "How on Earth could I have overlooked that?"

Sally couldn't resist smirking. For once, she had actually managed to do her job before Sherlock could totally take over and do it for her. "You might be losing your touch?" she replied in an innocent voice. "Either way, you should remember we're not totally useless."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something waspish, but closed it again. When he did spoke, the words that came out surprised everyone. "You're right. Good work, Sergeant Donovan. That was very perceptive of you, well done." No one was more shocked than Sally. She didn't think he had ever complimented anyone on the force, least of all her. So it was to be expected when she found herself too gobsmacked to answer him before he dragged Lestrade off to speak with someone else.

* * *

When Sally finally got to go home that night, she was still considering Sherlock's words. They were just a passing remark and to anyone who did not know the pair they would seem entirely inconsequential, but Sally was still in shock. Not only had Sherlock Holmes, the consulting four year old, accepted that he was wrong without throwing a tantrum but he had given credit to the person who had been right. If this had happened a few years ago, Sally would have been convinced that Sherlock had been replaced by some alternate universe double. While she couldn't discount the possibility right now, she supposed there was a chance he had finally grown up a little. Or maybe when the Grim Reaper threw him back to Earth, the diva arsehole part of Sherlock's personality got left behind. Maybe he would actually be pleasant to work with now. But she was getting ahead of herself. He would probably be back to normal the very next day, and insult anyone who dared to have an alternative idea or opinion to his own.

To her great surprise, she was wrong. The next day when she saw Sherlock at the Yard, he smiled at her. Actually smiled. Now was as good a time as any to talk about what had happened. If he was anything like yesterday, it might be alright. "Listen, Sherlock, about what happened…" she began a little uncertainly.

He held up a hand to silence her. "If you are referring to the way you suspected me of murder, you do not have to say it. The evidence clearly pointed in that direction. Had you ignored it, you would not have been doing your job correctly," he said in a matter of fact voice. "You were able to be objective when it was necessary. That is an admirable quality in a police officer."

Now Sally was almost certain that Sherlock had been replaced by a nicer alternate universe version of himself. There was no way she was complaining, though. This new Sherlock was a significant improvement. He was almost cute like this, awkwardly trying to compliment her.

She chuckled a little. "Thank you, Sherlock." She gave him a genuine, sweet smile that made him smile back at her. This could definitely be a new beginning for them, and that couldn't come quickly enough. If he had been like this from the beginning, things would definitely have gone differently. Maybe they still could. Maybe she should push that along a little. She couldn't deny that Sherlock was attractive, and anything would be better than the occasional crappy one night stand. Since she had ended it with Anderson, Sally hadn't had anything even close to a relationship and it was getting pretty dull. Even if this went horribly, it was at least worth a try. "We should get drinks," she said suddenly. "I mean, if you want to."

Sherlock smiled warmly, without a trace of his usual condescending sarcasm. "I would enjoy that very much."

* * *

It was just drinks, Sally reminded herself as she smoothed down her blouse, giving herself one last check over in the mirror before heading out of her flat to meet Sherlock. She was caught between thinking that this was a fantastic idea and that this was a horrible mistake, and both sides made a very convincing argument. Yes, she needed some kind of interesting male attention in her life and Sherlock was definitely interesting. But at the same time, they had spent the best part of five years in a barely civil working relationship. Could all that really change just because Sherlock had learnt some damn manners? As much as she hated to admit it, she really did hope so. Not that she was expecting this to lead to anything, of course. It was just drinks. Drinks didn't mean anything more was on the cards. She could test the waters and see if this was something she'd be interested in doing again. No commitment. That was the only way this would even have a chance of working.

"Evening," Sherlock greeted from his seat at the bar when she approached. "You look, um, good." This really was sweet. Dead bodies? Fine. Gruesome murder? Not a problem. Really disgusting experiments? Sherlock Holmes can handle it. But complimenting a good looking woman? Impossible. Well, he could do it but he'd sound like an awkward thirteen year old at his first school dance.

Sally grinned at him and slipped into the seat next to him. "Thanks, Sherlock. So do you," she said with a chuckle. "I'll take a gin and tonic."

"Things have changed," Sherlock announced sharply during a small lull in conversation, when Sally was on her second drink.

She sipped it again as she mulled over precisely how to answer. "I suppose they have," she replied calmly. "You have, definitely. Tell me, what happened to the freak? You didn't used to care, but Anderson's got everyone convinced you were trying to save your friends." Perhaps she was being blunt, but this was Sherlock. The man would be a hypocrite if he cared about how she phrased things too much.

"The freak, as you so delightfully put it, is the same man you see before you today," Sherlock replied in a calm voice. "I still perform experiments, I still find murders fascinating, and I still would do anything to solve a puzzle. Although I will admit that I have changed, and I may be more aware of the people in my life who I found it unpleasant to be without for an extended period."

Sally's eyes lit up and she grinned at him. "Are you saying you missed me?" she asked in a slightly mischievous voice. The moment had been getting too serious, definitely not the kind of conversation meant to be had on a just drinks meeting. And definitely not the kind of conversation she wanted to have with Sherlock Holmes. At least not yet.

Luckily for her, his cheeks turned ever so slightly pink and he spluttered out a response. "I said no such thing!" he insisted.

"You missed me!" she teased in a sing-song voice, elbowing him lightly. "You actually missed me!" Maybe this could turn out to be a good idea after all. There was certainly more than met the eye to Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
